Quotidian Delirium
by IfIShouldDieBeforeIWake
Summary: He wasen't that different than any other doctor at Arkham, at first. Just more passionate. /Character-Study


**Alright this is the first time I've ever wrote Johnathan Crane. I've noticed most people set Scarecrow as a separate mind entirely when they write him. Most psychologists (as do I) believe it's simply a change in personality and not person. (Meaning the mind will know exactly what it's doing, and will not be able to converse with itself like one would do with another person. Think Superman-Clark Kent or two sides of the same coin(internalized Harvey Dent) That means if there is a conversation, it would like how one talks to one self. No questions or conversations in the sense of 2 people.) I will be trying my best to get DID as accurate as possible. It is much like what has been portrayed, but it does not have the whole Two Souls in One Body idea. This story has a working plot, so expect the synopsis to change on more than one occasion. Reviews mean updates! If anyone wishes to critique (Especially on the portrayal of Crane, I appreciate any help I can get on that department) I'd love you. I promise my Author's notes won't be as long at this one, too.**

**As of now, this story has no pairings, so don't expect Crane x OC (at least for now). I just wanted to show the way Crane's mind works, or at least my version of him, before I establish anything else. This story won't be following Nolan-verse although it takes place in it. **

**It's my Birthday fools. Now love me.~**

**Beta: MarlyHarkness**

It reeked. That was the first thing he'd noticed at Arkham. The pungent smell of bleach pulled at his senses, willing him to grab for his nose and run right back out those doors. Any lesser man just might have. Then there was the faint undertones that no amount of bleach could quite clear away. Piss. Bleach and piss. They say you get used to it, but he never did. Not really.

It seemed like only yesterday when he first stepped foot into the Asylum. 3 months had flown by very fast indeed. Johnathan Crane pushed up his glasses, feeling that even **they** wished to flee the putrid stench. Thankfully, only a few areas of the hospital had been unfortunate enough to smell as such. He moved his legs with practiced control, although every part of him wished to be free of that room as quickly as possible. He stepped up to a cement wall with a square cutout covered by bulletproof glass. A small circle was placed in the center of it, easily assumable to be an intercom.

"These crazies haven't scared you off yet?" the portly dark skinned man laughed, examining the Doctor from his chair behind the glass.

A small chuckle sounded from Crane's lips, an ironic chuckle. His head dipped low, blue eyes glancing at the stained carpet before looking back up at the man. "No," Johnathan smirked just slightly. His hands placed themselves behind his back, the man's posture becoming straightened once more. "No,"he repeated,"I don't believe you'll have to worry about me being frightened away, Mr. Brown."

Dr. Crane passed through the 3 ring circus of entering the building, the doing of such that had become almost automatic. He barely had to think when doing such things, unless of course any of the individuals working that day felt like dragging him into petty small talk. The boy had been raised to be polite enough to comply with their requests, but inside he could only hate them. The hate was natural. In fact, he couldn't remember a time this hate wasn't there with him. He'd grown to love this hatred, the only consistency he could count on in his life. John even named it, you see. Scarecrow. He found it fitting. Ironically so. He named it after those who had helped birth this monster. Wouldn't they have been pleased? Oh and it _loved _that name. There was no other option really. It was destined to be that. The Scarecrow. And he would be recognized just for what he was.

Dr. Crane's first patient of the day was a middle aged woman who seemed to be suffering from some sort of severe depression.

_If this bitch doesn't stop whining about wanting to die, I might just do her a favor._

He tried to give the woman reassurance, but only a twitch of a smile presented itself. Even that hid itself away soon after it was presented. He wasn't certain just how much he could hide before everything would collapse upon itself. The woman hadn't been paying any attention to the Doctor anyway, much like previous sessions.

Self absorbed, he noted with distaste.

As a Doctor you are supposed to be unbiased. As a human that is simply impossible.

"Ms. Adams," He addressed, glancing through her files before setting back on the table. Crane folded his hands neatly in front of himself, and straightened up in his seat.

The woman's eyes lit up at the sound of her name. Her scraggly blonde hair hid most of her dark eyes from sight, but he could see them just the same. Seeing as how she was the center of attention once more, the woman leaned on her elbows almost eagerly. He blank expression betrayed that fact.

"You remember, of course, the monthly testing we run in the examination facilities correct?"

She shifted her shoulders slightly, but otherwise gave no indication that she had heard. It seemed to be more of a gesture that read 'And this concerns me why?'

"Well our records show that you had no drugs in your system," He leaned backwards only slightly, "Mind telling me why you haven't been taking your medication Ms. Adams?"

Marcaline Adams had become noticeably discomforted by this. She shifted in her seat and glanced away from Johnathan. "Because maybe I didn't want to."

He found it hard to believe this woman was in her 40's. His glasses slipped a bit as his head turned to a downward gaze.

_Then why the fuck are you even here you fucking whore?_

He had to grit his teeth to stop that from coming out. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to converse with this woman.

"You willingly placed yourself into the care of this facility," he spoke with practiced professionalism, "If you refuse to follow all of its procedures, then we will have no choice but to expel you from the care of the hospital."

_If you don't stop, If you don't STOP..._

"It doesn't matter," she murmured, " I just want to die."

I don't know how to help you.

_You're DISGUSTING._

I should have discharged you a long time ago.

_I'll drop a neat little razor blade in your cereal._

But I know what would happen if I did.

_Do us both a favor._

I can't save you.

_Just DIE._

A long drawn out sigh proceeding the silence filled the room. His bright blue eyes pried at her dark brown ones, as if peering into her soul. A long shiver ran down her spine, although Marcaline didn't know why. He was the Doctor right? Here to help her, right? She needed someone to save her. That's what they were here for. So why was it she was feeling just as shitty as before?

' Just talk to me. I can't save myself. Just tell me it's going to be alright. I don't need to die. Don't let me do this.' Her thoughts drifted in and out of her mind. It was almost as if the woman couldn't feel anymore. Stuck in an eternal void, it seemed. A living hell.

Crane's eyes slammed shut, the corners of his eyes twitched and his mouth turned to a small frown.

"I don't have time for those who refuse to help themselves," He growled.

When he flicked open his lids once more, the speculating bright blue eyes turned harsh and cruel.

Her mouth hung open. What was this? This wasn't supposed to be happening. No. No. No. Her body began to shake under his scrutiny.

"Tell me," A dark leer formed on his face and he leaned himself over the table, "What are you so afraid of? You wanted to _die_ didn't you?"

Marcaline felt like a child being towered over by such a younger man.

' No! I don't want to die. I don't...I don't understand...'

"**Answer me**!" He barked, his hands slamming down on the table.

All she could do was stare up at him, her eyes growing large much like a wounded puppy. Slowly, ever so slowly, he drew himself back and into the seat.

Of course she didn't want to die. That blatant fear practically radiated off of her in waves. She obviously craved attention. During their therapy sessions, Ms. Adams often spoke of how much she wished she'd have known her mother. Emotional support was what she had been missing from her childhood. It seemed it was only when she was speaking of such things could he find himself content to be around her. Sympathy goes both ways. He could only stand her when she was in pain. He supposed that made him cruel, in a way. No more cruel than what he'd experienced, himself.

Crane stared at her for only a moment more before tucking the file under his arm and standing back up.

"I'm sorry,"She murmured,"I seem to have a habit of disappointing a lot of people in my life."

John spared only a glance at the woman, his face as hollow as it was when he entered.

"Please try to take you're medication Ms. Adams."


End file.
